The Essence Of You
by Lady-Lazarus-DeClermont
Summary: Matthew Clairmont's, a vampire who's life changes drastically in 1590 when Diana Bishop, a time walking witch accidently arrives. He's given up on finding his mate until her very essence and scent from his 1 true love changes him forever. Once becoming 1, she's thrown back into her time where Matthew waits, never forgetting her scent, their love & their bond. How will they reunite?
1. The Essence of You

**Hello. I am new to the ADOW and All Souls fandom. I started watching the show the beginning of May and became obsessed. Matthew Clairmont stole my heart and then some. I have all three books and can say I've never enjoyed a show or book series like this. **

**Because Bishmont took over my mind, I gave in and wrote my first fanfic with Matthew and Diana. I have never written anything like this before. It's Alternate Reality. Time travel is also in this story. There's been talk of past Matthew remembering Diana's scent, never forgetting it subconsciously because she's his soul mate. **

**Here is my idea coming from that theme…**

**I hope I cast a spell on you enough for you to drop a spell (review) on me in return. If there is enough interest, I'll add another chapter. Thank you reading.**

**Lady Lazarus…**

**/**

"**It begins with a scent of you. It begins with ancient smells never forgotten, remembered and hidden bringing the past, present and future together. It begins with **_**The Essence Of You." – Lady Lazarus DeClermont**_

**The Essence Of You…**

"**Willow-sap. Chamomile. Honey. Frankincense. Lady's Mantel. Ancient things I thought I'd forgotten." - Matthew Clairmont: ADOW Episode 3**

**October 25, 2018 (Week before Halloween)**

**Sister From Another Creature…**

"Sit tight. I have to unlock the gate," Diana's best friend explains as she stops her mini-cooper at a wooden gate.

"Are you sure it's all right for us to be here," Diana wonders. Her mind is filled with questions as to why she was brought to this place. The property through the gate appears to be vast as is the land it occupies.

"Yes. My boss said it was fine. He did give me the keys for us enter the house," her friend grins. Diana has known her best friend since she was fifteen. They met in New York City, at the Top of the Rock. Her parents were dragging her around in the heat of the summer the week of her birthday – August 13th, just before she turned 16.

Diana originally didn't want to go, fearing she'd accidently release a spell on one of the massive buildings making its lights flicker or worse. She attended regular school, but had "magic" lessons with witches from her coven three times a week. She had little time for extracurricular school activities accept one. She begged her parents and gratefully they agreed.

As she watches her best friend who's she known for more than half her life, a vampire, she recalls at how lucky she was to have met her. Diana had grown tired of her parents taking pictures of every landmark, and historical artifacts. She just wanted tour Rockefeller Center, then sit and enjoy the view watching New York City come alive at night.

She pestered her parents to head up to the top floors to watch the sunset. Instead they were busy in the walking the mall, enjoying tea, watches skaters on the ice rink, absorbing has much history of the landmark as possible.

"Can I go up to the top on my own," Diana asked her parents.

Rebecca and Stephen glanced at one another. "Can you control it," they whispered. Diana glared at them. "We know what happens when you get excited. And you could accidently release…"

"I'll be fine Mom." She gave her father a pleading look. "Nothing has happened in a while."

"Let her go Rebecca. She's proved herself capable." Her father spoke to her mother. Diana smiled. "Remember to be careful and be mindful of…,"

"Others like me and humans. Dad I know. Can I go now," she pleaded. They nodded agreeing they'd meet her up on the top floor in thirty minutes. She walked up the winding staircase, headed for the elevator after clearing security. Bypassing the lower levels to view the city, Diana meandered to the upper level. "Wow," she gasped taking it all in.

"It is rather beautiful I must admit," a female English voice uttered behind her. It's a vampire. She did not have to turn around. Her bare skin prickled under their gaze making her hairs stand erect. The tone sent shivers down her spine along with her skin prickling under her watchful eyes. She felt cool not cold.

The vampire stood next to her. "It is." Diana still did not meet her gaze. "First time in New York," Diana inquires being polite.

"No," the vampire answered shocked this young witch was speaking to her. Even with the fraternization rules lifted, she knew some witches from certain areas around the World still kept to themselves especially around Vampires because their blood sang to them. "You," the vampire inquired.

"Coming up to the Top of the Rock yes. The city no," Diana explained. If she wanted to harm her, she would have. Vampires are not known to make small talk. If they want your blood, their lightning flash reflexes will slice you open, take what they want, before you realize what's happening.

"Sunset or sunrise is the best time to see the city. It's when everything is quite…,"

"Like the city is thinking," Diana utters sighing as they sun falls behind buildings. The lights are just beginning to illuminate, giving the city an iridescent glow. "Unsure if it's ready to greet a new day or say goodbye to this one. I know the feeling."

The vampire chuckles sticking out her hand to greet her properly. "I'm…,"

Diana faces her. She's taller. Long brown straight hair in a high ponytail. Piercing brown eyes. Perfect soft skin. She's wearing red tank top, leather pants, and shoes.

"You're a vampire," Diana whispers ensuring know one hears. She connects their hands. The vampire eyes widen feeling her power, then calms quickly.

"You're a witch," the vampire counters side-eyeing her. A grin grows on her face. "And not afraid of me at all."

"No. Should I be," Diana smirks. Her voice is even, no trace of fear. Luckily she was taught to monitor her heart rate and blood pressure to not attract unwanted vampire attention. An elevated pulse, and adrenaline can make one hunt down and kill an unsuspecting creature.

"You're young I gather." Diana doesn't answer. "Where are your parents?"

"Coming I'm sure," Diana responds not scanning the area. "I'm old enough to know better. But young enough to get into trouble and make my parents hair turn grey." The vampire chuckles finally gives the bright witch her name. Her scent is most unusual. Unlike anything she's smelt, reminding her of the approaching autumnal equinox.

Diana hears her breath deeply. "I'm sorry. Around my birthday, I begin to smell different. I can't control it. The closer it gets to Halloween, the more I smell like pumpkin spice and those other fall –winter spices."

The vampire snorts. "Well it's good I don't mind then. The fall spices are my favorite." She picks up hints of bee nectar, frankincense, mayweed, and weeping willow. Weeping willow is odd, an aroma given off by witches who are sad or alone. This one doesn't appear to be, or is she?

"It's a pleasure. I'm Diana," she utters finally introducing herself.

Diana and her new friend chat taking in the spectacular view of the city as the sun sets in the horizon. She shows her photos. Her new friend tells her where she's from. Diana's eyes light up wishing she could go there.

Stephen and Rebecca arrive nearly have a fit seeing their daughter on a bench chatting it up with a vampire. They look extremely comfortable with one another. "She's not in any harm's way Rebecca."

"How can you be sure," her mother questions watching them closely. "You know how her scent changes around her birthday."

"If she wanted to harm Diana, she would have done it," Stephen explained noting the vampire's posture. She's facing their daughter, relaxed intently listening. Both laughing, giggling like sisters snickering at fashion mistakes meandering pass. There are too many humans and other creatures around, never mind the security cameras. "Diana seems to have that calming effect on everyone she meets. It obviously includes vampires. Look at how they are laughing."

Rebecca was skeptical but with her husband's assistance they met their daughter's new friend. When they parted ways that evening, they exchanged numbers. As she grew older, they became best friends. Her parents, Aunt Sarah, her mother's sister and her wife Emily thought it was an odd pairing but found the vampire pleasing and a welcome addition to the Bishop household.

"Mir," is considered Diana's sister from another creature. She lived in the United Kingdom, Oxford not far from the Bodleian Library. Two years later when Diana turned eighteen, graduated high school, her parents presented her with her passport and a plane ticket to go to Europe to spend time with Mir.

Mir took time off from work, spent the summer with Diana running around England, Scotland, Ireland, and as many as the major cities in Europe. It was the best summer Diana had before going off to college.

When Diana turned twenty, Mir introduced her to a doctor friend, another vampire she was close to and trusted. This vampire, a male, was immediately taken by Diana but only felt friendship. He too noticed her odd smell, but found it pleasant. Both he and Mir grew protective as she grew older especially when she hit her twenty-first birthday.

Diana dragged them both to New York City to celebrate. He was her wing-man, fighting off possible suitors. He kept everyone at an arm's length. The three had been thick as thieves since. Her parents, Aunts ended up nicknaming them the "Three Amigos" depending on who caused the most trouble. Both vampires, became her closest friends loved Diana and doing anything for her.

This interspecies mingling would not have been allowed if the Covenant was not repelled. Vampires, witches and daemons could now socialize, talk, date and even marry when the Congregation threw out the Convent in 1900. It was decided, voted upon by all members to allow interspecies friendships and marriages.

Because of the changing of the rules, she was friends with creatures in every species. She interacted with other vampires but they still kept much to themselves.

"Diana," Mir speaks tapping on her hand getting her attention. "A pence for your thoughts," she teases bringing her back to the present sitting in the car driving it through the gate. Eight years later it still boggles Mir's mind how Diana can get lost in her mind.

They pass a plague engraved with,_ "Old Lodge – Klairemont."_

"Klairemont," Diana reads. She glances at Mir as they pass through the gates. "Is that any relation to your boss?"

"It is in fact," Mir explains stopping the car in front of the house. "Different spelling."

"Ah." Diana knows little of Mir's boss. She's worked with him for centuries. He's a vampire. Kept mostly to himself, focusing on his work – a geneticist. Loyal to his friends. Protective of his close nit family. He attends and gives seminars at Oxford. Catholic.

Mir has wanted to introduce him to Diana but always had an excuse not to. Diana is no child. She turned twenty-nine over the summer. He did not "date," was married when he was human, and closed himself up to the possibility of relationship with anyone, especially a warmblood. He was uptight and needed to relax. Mir's friendship with Diana had changed her, she knew it would be the same for him.

"I'm not interested," Matthew warns Mir. "She's a witch. Your sister from another species. You talk at least once a week, and text nearly every day. I know enough about her from you. I don't need to meet her. I feel like I know her already. I still don't get…"

"How I can be best friends with a witch." Matthew reclines backwards in his chair huffing in annoyance. "She's different that's why. You see it to if you met her. She's fun. Feisty. Alive. Vibrant. An astonishingly powerful if she only believed in her capabilities a little more. I thought you approve of us mixing with other species," Mir counters.

"I do," Matthew grouses. "But I choose to not expose myself to temptation. It's best. I commend you for this friendship. You've changed a lot because of her. Witches blood sings to us all and if what you tell is true, she'll sound like the London Symphony Orchestra. I still don't get how you two," he refers to his son, "can be so close to her and not be affected."

"We are but she calms us both. There's something about her Matthew. You'd really like her if you gave her a chance and met her. She's one in a million," Mir explains hoping Matthew will finally acquiesce. "You work all the time. Hardly sleep. Some spice in your life would do you good. I am not trying to fix you up. I am not that crazy."

"I don't need any spice or anyone Miriam. I swear the older the Dee gets, you keep trying to get us to meet. I rather not. Nothing against her. One day I'm sure our paths will cross one day." Matthew presses hoping she'll drop it.

"Suit yourself. I swear she changed my life for the better. I know she can do the same for you," she exasperates walking away. Miriam only stopped pestering him to meet her when he agreed to help Dee out of a problem she found herself in.

"Go and tell Dee it's no problem her using the Lodge." Matthew replies staring at the computer screen. Miriam vented to Dee she lost her venue for a Costume Party she was planning for the teachers and kids at the school she taught at. The place backed out at the last minute. She mentioned it to Matthew and he agreed to let her use his house. He rarely goes there anyway, which is where she has taken her.

"Wow," Diana utters as they stop in front of the house. "I don't understand…."

"I told my boss about your Halloween party problem. He said you could use his house." Her eyes widen grabbing her best friend's arms. "As long as you don't make a mess. Only use certain rooms and keep the kids in the room where it's going to be held."

"Seriously," she squeals jumping up and down. She leaps into Miriam's arms.

"Yes," she walks her up the stairs inside. Once in the living room, all the air leaves her body. "Wow. It's like I'm in a time capsule. Please tell me he'll come. I have to thank him personally."

"I doubt it but I'll ask," Miriam chuckles.

Now a week later, Halloween Day October 31st she's returned to make final preparations. The kids and parents will be arriving after school. Diana has been at the house setting things up with Miriam, and teachers from the school. Right now it's just her and Miriam.

"Mir please tell me you left my gift there for your boss and didn't let Marcus eat them all. You know how hard I worked at that recipe so vampires could eat it," Diana chastises as they put the finishing touches on decorations.

"I was told by you I couldn't have any," she seethes playfully. "I used to your taste tester until Marcus took the job." Diana rolls her eyes. She pesters Miriam to call her boss to thank him. "He's busy Dee." She pouts. "Fine."

Miriam dials Matthew's number.

"Please tell me the kids haven't ruined my house," he grumbles knowing the Halloween party is today. He had misgivings about doing this but something told him it was the right thing to do to help this witch out.

"No," Miriam huffs rolling her eyes. "Did you find the gift?"

Matthew glances around the lab after just walking through the doors. Instantly he's met with an unusual scent of not only pumpkin spice. His heart flutters, two quick hard beats against his breast bone - _Willow sap. Chamomile. Honey. Frankincense. Lady's Mantle. Smells from a different time, place he buried deep in his heart. Scents calling him home – make him want to be alive, burry himself in it and never come up for air. _

His hand covers his heart squeezing his shirt into a tight ball. His chest aches from the pressure. In over 1500 years, he's never reacted to a scent like this. He exhales and inhales deeply willing his body to relax. It does nothing. His nose picks up more of _her _scent. His eyes spot an orange box with a black bow.

"_It's from her,"_ Matthew inhales and exhales as his hand ghosts over it picking aroma's from the owner. Her scent is on the entire package signaling how much care she placed with assembly his gift. His eyes locate the tag and widen seeing it written in French.

"_Merci pour l'ulilisation de votre maison Matthew. _(Thank you for the use of your house Matthew.) _Cela signifie plus pour moi que vous pourriez savoir._ (It means more to me than you could know.)_ J'espere vous rencontrer beintot. _(I hope to meet you soon.)_" _

Her penmanship is exquisite as is her French. "Merde," he grouses into the line. Miriam never told him she could write in French.

"MATTHEW," Miriam hisses. "Is it there or did your son eat them all ready?"

"No it's here," Matthew voice cracks. Miriam stares at the phone unprepared for his voice change. He slowly unties the ribbon. The smell of pumpkin spice, cloves and nutmeg flood his nostrils. The smell is overpowering. He lifts the lid seeing cookies. "Cookies? Miriam I can't eat these."

"Oh yes you can," she warns. "Dee designed the recipe for us."

"Us as in," his fingers grace the cookies.

"Vampires," she grumbles feeling her frustration with Matthew growing. "But mainly for you." Matthew swallows hard. "Marcus loves them. I don't know how she did it. Her aunts helped. She perfected the recipe using your favorite wine, berries and nuts. She won't tell me anything else." Matthew didn't need to be told, he smells the ingredients. "Try them. She'll be crushed if you don't."

Matthew sniffs. His stomach growls. He smirks. That's a first. He lifts a cookie to his mouth and bites into the airy dough. He braces himself on the table then sits unprepared for the first flavor. _Highland Stag. _"How in the hell could she have," he wonders to himself. The cookie's taste warms his cold body as he chews slowly. He tastes every nut, berry, his favorite wine, flavors he adores.

"How can this be," his mutters. His heart pounds within his chest with every bite. With each bite the flavors break free into his mouth enticing him to yearn for more. He _craves _to be this witch's presence. To get lost in the eyes of the woman – who created this cookie - _for him_. His heart pounds harder. He hasn't even met her He closes the lid quickly eyeing the door for Marcus unwilling to share.

"I told you they were good," Miriam snickers. His silence is deafening.

Diana enters the room. Miriam gives her the thumbs up. "He loves them."

"Yay," she smiles. She calls out. "MATTHEW THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME USE YOUR HOUSE."

Matthew drops the phone on the counter hearing her voice. It sings to him like a favorite piece of classical music, each note, chord, melody causing his ears to ring. His ears ring.

Miriam glances at the phone. "Matthew?"

"Sorry." He quickly explains. His pulse quickens, increasing his breathing listening intently to Dee speak to Miriam about a costume for tonight. "Tell her to look upstairs. Master bedroom. There's probably a dress she can use if she wants."

"THANK YOU," Diana heard him stopping what she was doing hearing his voice. "He is a Sweetheart," she blushes.

"Her name Miriam. I know it's not Dee," Matthew questions with his blood pumping faster through his body.

Diana hears his question. "Diana. Bishop," she coos feeling a smile form on her face. Before Matthew can ask anything else, she scurries up the steps.

"Diana," he whispers finding increasing difficult to catch his breath. Her name does ignites his blood. The warm it creates courses through is cold body.

"You made her day Matthew," Miriam teases after fifteen minutes hearing notices upstairs. "Look I better go help her."

"She'll be there tonight right?"

"Yes. Why?" Miriam pauses. It hits her. She cannot recall the last time she heard him react to anything like this. "You're going to come to meet her. Aren't you?"

He's already grabbing his keys, the cookies unwilling to share any piece of her with Marcus or anyone else. He refuses. He's never felt THIS before and he'll be damned if anything keeps him from meeting her. Miriam hears him punch the code to lock the lab.

"She's going to flip," Miriam grins.

"DO NOT TELL HER," he seethes. "I'm on my way."

Miriam eyes widen as the phone abruptly disconnects. "Men," she pauses. "Correction. Matthew," she bolts up the steps to find Diana in the master bedroom. She stifles a laugh glancing at Diana's attempt to get into a black and white dress from the late 1500's.

"He said I could wear this," Diana hisses. "Wipe that smirk off your face and help me please." Miriam chuckles recognizing Ysabeau's dress – Matthew's mother. Once she's laced into it Diana faces the mirror. "Not bad," she smooths her hand down the fabric. She locates a pair of pearl-drop earrings. "Well?"

"Try them," her friends insists. "They suit you. Matthew said you could."

Diana eagerly places the earrings in her ears. "You look good." Miriam receives a text from Matthew. "I have to check on something downstairs. I'll be back. Stay put until I call for you."

Diana nods walking around the room taking in her surroundings. The queen size bed has a canopy for privacy in in heavy dark green velvet fabric. On the mantle just over the fireplace, she spots a silver chest piece of the Goddess Diana. When her eyes focus on it, it begins to glow and she hears a buzzing sound.

"What in the world," she utters tip-toeing slowly across the room. The closer she becomes the brighter it glows. The "buzzing" sound grows louder. "Hmmm," she places her hand over stopping at the mantle. She picks it up. The sound stops and it dims slightly.

"Odd," she shrugs. She walks to the mirror in her hand stopping in front of it. "What era are you from," she wonders flipping it over. When she flips she hears Miriam coming up the stairs.

"Diana there is someone hear to finally meet you," Miriam announces stepping inside with Matthew behind her.

Diana turns the statue over noting the date. "1590." She thinks to herself what it would like to live back then. "What would it be like to live in 1590," her eyes close.

"Matthew this is my friend Diana Bishop. Diana – Matthew Clairmont."

Diana spins around one foot, meets Matthew's gaze. His piercing green – blue eyes sweep over her in the gown, leaving fractals of frozen crystals sweeping over her bare skin. "Oh Christ Miriam," he gasps seeing Diana for the first time in his mother's dress and earrings. One hand flies to the wall to brace himself while the other over his heart.

Her breath catches. Her foot drops. She disappears before their eyes in a flash of orange light.

"DIANA," Matthew and Miriam call out wondering where she could have gone….

/

**TBC…**

**#WhereDidDianaGo? **

**Guesses? (I'm thinking you have a "goode" idea but I'll let you tell me….)**

**To all of you who supported me in putting myself out here and posting this first chapter I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means I great deal you had faith in me even though you had no idea who I was or my writing capabilities. I am so appreciative and hope you leave a review if you are interested in this version of Bishmont. **

**Thank you for reading and I hope to hear back from you all…**

**Take care…**

**Lady Lazarus**


	2. Fall On Me (With All Your Light)

**Hello fellow daemons, witches and vampires. Here is your next chapter. Sorry for the delay but I had to make sure it was what I wanted. The year 1590 can be a bit intimidating. **

**Before I let you read, I would like to thank ALL of you who read and reviewed chapter 1. I'm so grateful you enjoyed. Your words of encouragement to keep going help me write more. **

**Also I just wanted to say I'm no historian. If my language or some details are not quite right in this time period I apologize. Thanks for reading…**

**Lady Lazarus…**

**/**

**Chapter 2: Fall On Me With All Your Light...**

_**"It's been foretold when a great enchantress is in the presence of her forever mate, her skin will shimmer, and radiate brightly like sun's rays bouncing off the waves of the ocean. Her eyes will peer into his soul rendering her mate breathless with a steady thump of his heart. The music from within her veins will call him from home from a lonely battle bringing light into his darkness. Her alluring and captivating scent, will make him crave more. Lastly when they touch, they will forever be joined because like her, they are the other's ending and new beginning." – Lady Lazarus **_

**All Hallows Eve 1590**

"Would you be needing anything else this evening Mi-Lord," a long time servant of Matthew's questions as he walks towards his bedchamber.

"No. I am going to read for a bit in my chambers, then once the activity quiets down outside the lodge, I'll go for a stroll around the grounds," Matthew sighs deeply. "I'll tend to myself the rest of the evening."

"Be careful out there tonight Mi-Lord, I feel something wicked comes this way tonight," his servant suggests. His servant leaves to tidy up the kitchen. He's grateful he hunted the day before.

Today is All Hallows Eve. The residents and his neighbors in the village have been celebrating since the sun had set. Bonfires have been erected. His close neighbors are burning crops commemorating the end of the harvest; days of light and the beginning of the days of darkness. Some townsfolk left the area to not drawn attention to themselves. Other wear masks to shield their identity.

Old Lodge was a gift from Henry the 8th. Matthew has made changes over time. He's added rooms, another fireplace, an inside washroom, enlarged the kitchen and sleeping area for the staff. The village has grown in size. More houses have been built with a variety of occupants. With a walk past each house, he can instantly sense if it's human, witches or daemons. There are a lot of humans, a few daemons, no witches.

Witches live on the outskirts of town, closest to the woods. They come into town occasionally. Matthew recognizes them not only by sight but by their scent. The witches are aware of Matthew as well. They stay clear of Old Lodge but have heard he has not harmed a witch and has no ill feelings towards them. He's different in that respect to 16th Century vampires.

His residence is the only dwelling housing vampires. He's friends with others by Oxford, around the Thames, and London. They come to call on him after a letter has been disbatched alerting him to their arrival. It helps he's in charge and looks out for all his neighbors.

He keeps to himself but keeps a watchful eye on the homes surrounding Old Lodge. He does not get into their business, but will offer assistance if a creature or human comes to his door for aid. He turns no one away Covenant - Congregation be damned. Vampires, witches and daemons by law required to stay away from each other fearing it would draw attention.

The humans in the village, suspect Matthew is different, but it is never brought up. He's respected by the locals for his kind heart and generosity. His Step-Father Philippe expected him to behave as a DeClermont. His mother – the woman who sired him, Ysabeau would equally be cross if he was any different. He's actually due to be home in France the end of November, beginning of December – start to the Catholic Holiday season.

Matthew's keen eyes travel around his bedchamber. The room's air is different - charged this evening. He inhales deeply picking up scents he's never smelt in his home before. He shrugs them off before stepping in front of his mirror examining himself. He has not aged a day since his rebirth, but on occasions he notices slight sighs of his long _lonely _life. He lost his wife, and child when he was human leading to him becoming a vampire. He closed off his heart to any kind of romantic love.

He did not want take a lover. It betrayed his marriage vows even enough his wife made him promise go on living with her. She knew she was going to die and made Matthew promise he'd live on without her. She made no mention of him falling in love again, or remarrying. She did not want him to be alone. He was grateful to his mother, Ysabeau who sired him, and his Step-father Philippe.

They hoped century after century Matthew would not only fall in love again, feel the instinctive urge to mate. No one who entered his life, human, or vampire, even with some careful arranging from his family worked. He literally "sniffed" out their intentions putting an end to it.

"I will not dishonor my vows to Blanca," he reiterated to Philippe during one of his visits home in France. Ysabeau had thrown in the towel trying to talk to him about seeing someone. "In my heart she's my wife. Despite she's gone."

"I understand my son," Philippe spoke softly. "But you promised her you'd move on, live on without her."

"I'm here aren't I," Matthew scoffs sipping his wine. "Alive."

"But you are not living," Philippe places his wine goblet on the table between them. "A faint pulse between breaths is not living. Walking this earth with your eyes open but not truly seeing its beauty is not living. Keeping your heart closed off to love definitely isn't. It's been over 500 years since you were reborn as a vampire. Your mother and I would have thought and believe it's time for you to...," he stops seeing the glare in Matthew's eyes.

"If you lost Maman," Matthew challenges, "would you be able to move on whether it was 500 days, weeks, years." Philippe does not answer. He cannot. Matthew is right. "Blanca was my life. There will be no other. My heart cannot handle another loss especially now I'd have to live on without her."

Philippe scoots his chair closer to Matthew. "Do you know what I believe?" Matthew is quiet. "Your love for Blanca prepared you for this life." He squints then rests his hand over his son's heart. "Her love for you in still in here. It didn't die with her. It's in you. The love you had for her is also. You have so much more love left to give."

Matthew wipes a tear. He disagrees with Philippe. But what other choice is there. He rather be alone, without love, then to love so deeply and bear witness to such a devastating loss again. Watching Blanca and his child die while he remained healthy ruined him. As a vampire, an immortal, to fall in love with another warmblood, knowing they would eventually leave him, he will not allow it happen.

He can't.

Won't.

Another vampire as a mate, he even scoffs at that idea.

Matthew rather be alone, with his close friends and family at his side, then to permit another into his heart. It's safer for him and those he cherishes.

"Everyone experiences one great love. Your mother is mine. It's painful. Difficult and life-changing. However when _she, your soulmate_ enters your life, you'll feel the urge to mate _becoming one _so strongly, you won't be able deny it. The instinct is buried deep within you now, waiting. A hint of her scent, when her eyes meets yours, a fire will begin to simmer in your blood only she can quench. The thirst and taste for blood, will fail in comparison to what you'll feel for her. It's an instinct in every vampire, young and old, you will not be able to forestall nor battle against it once _she _appears."

"Appears," Matthew grouses crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "Do you believe my future mate is just going to what," he pauses, "materialize before my eyes through some mystical charged air causing a quickening in my heart. Blanca was my mate," Matthew hisses stepping away from his father.

"As a human," Ysabeau steps into the room. She strolls to her beloved son cradling his cold cheeks in her hands. "It's not the same Matthew. You loved her yes, but you are a vampire, this will take over your entire being. One of our greatest as a vampire is not only blood but to find our mate. Once _your one comes along, _she will possess not your body but your mind. Every breath you inhale will be about her. You stand here stating you NEED no one. That your father and I, and the rest of the family are enough."

Matthew kisses her cheeks. "You are Maman," he exasperates.

"No we are not. SHE is out there waiting for you to find her, love her, claim her, become one," Ysabeau assures him with a tear down her cheek. She stops him from walking away. "Once you get a hint of her essence…-"

"Essence," Matthew snarls louder than intended.

Ysabeau grasps his shirt in her hand yanking Matthew's face inches above her own. She will not tolerate his disrespect. Philippe stops her stepping between them protecting them both from an altercation. "Forgive me Maman. Philippe." He bows his head in shame. Philippe steps aside allowing Matthew into her arms. He rests his head on his mother's breathing in the scent from her honeysuckle hair.

She speaks into his chest, "Her very essence Matthew. It's not just her scent that will call to you like a mermaid's song to a lost sailor on the open seas. Her blood will sing a song only YOU can hear because it's meant for your ears alone. Your heart will sync with hers. She looks into your eyes, a warmth will spread through your body making you feel alive, heating your blood to a boiling point. When you touch, every cell in your body will beg for more. You'll never want her to be less than an arm's reach away. You will desire her beyond reason. You will CRAVE her."

"What if I hurt her?" The fear is in his voice is evident. Due to his heightened senses, strength, thirst he could hurt someone he's meant not to. He's not a newborn, but at times he fears he could lose control. To injure someone he loves would be his undoing. He'd never forgive himself.

"You won't because she'll be strong enough for both of you. She'll challenge you to better for you both and magnify your senses to protect her. Her love for you will bring you out of the darkness into the light," his mother explains softly.

"What if she never comes," Matthew replies. "I loved so deeply once and couldn't keep my wife and child safe. I couldn't save them. I cannot go through it again." He sits laying his head in his hands. He trained himself not to fall in love again. To love so deeply then to be helpless and watch them die. He was a stone mason and the wall he built around his heart is impenetrable.

Philippe is beside him wrapping a protective arm around him. "We all have lost loved ones. Her scent will calm you, ALL your needs not just for blood. Her just being near will be all you ever require to walk this earth. You'll always hear her heart beating. Her breathing, will sooth your worries. It's forever. You will want to protect her, shield her, love her, possess her, and even if it's against her wishes, control her. You will obsesses over her once she enters your life."

"I don't believe you Father I'm sorry," Matthew speaks evenly. "I mated once. It was Blanca. Human or vampire, I do not want another." Ysabeau and Philippe drop it the conversation knowing nothing they can say will be able to convince him otherwise. He does not understand but one day he will be.

/

Five-hundred and fifty three years have passed, and this conversation has replayed in Matthew's mind for the last week. Were Philippe's and his mother hopes for his future or did they foresee it and _her._ Their entire talk has only gotten stronger. Their voices have grown louder with each passing day. He takes long walks at night hoping to clear his mind longing for insight.

He sighs gazing at his reflection. His eyes narrow sensing a change in the air in the room. Squinting he notices the particles floating past him at an alarming rate. His eyes dart towards the window. It's closed.

He inhales deeply breathing in honey and hope. His eyes dart around the room desperate for the source before zipping through his bedchamber searching every nook and cranny. He's still alone. "Where is that scent coming from," he questions out loud.

If someone entered his home without his knowledge, he'd know. For an intruder to enter his territory is an act of aggression he cannot forgive. No creature would dare enter his property without his approval.

He passes the mirror stopping on the balls of his feet. "Christ," he stammers picking up high traces of pumpkin, nutmeg, ginger, and allspice. "My bedchamber smells like a pumpkin patch,' he grouses.

"My brother must have been in here," he deadpans staring out the window. He had arrived from London two days hence, refusing to miss Matthew's birthday on November 2nd. "I can only take this scent in small doses."

He steps towards the window halting hearing a faint buzzing sound, growing in intensity. The fire from the candles dims No air is entering the room. before glowing brighter. His eyes narrow. The flames flicker as the atmosphere becomes charged with an unknown energy he cannot place. The tiny dust particles glimmer. It's unlike anything he's sensed before.

It's unique.

The hair on his arms and nape of his neck stand up drawn to the power keen to locate the source. Goosebumps pop up and down his arms, nape of his neck and back.

He grasps his shirt over his heart. It thumps not one but twice, in perfect sync with the unknown source its own heartbeat closing in around him. He bolts from where he's standing, searching the room thoroughly. He's still alone. A quick glance out the window. There is no one there.

"What the hell is going on," he snaps. His eyes twitch spotting the air in the room shift again. "Whomever you are SHOW YOURSELF," he yells. He will NOT be hunted in his own home. "Now."

"_1590,"_ Matthew without warning hears. _The Voice. _He swallows hard. His heart crashes into his sternum not once but twice nearly knocking him over. The melodic tone passes through his entire body. He spins frantically searching for the voice. It's CALLS to him causing a cataclysmic effect on every cell in his body he's powerless to stop.

"_What would it be like to live in 1590," _the female voice utters clearly and in wonder.

The pitch is perfect – feminine, fertile causing his stomach to lurch forward, then twist into a tight knot. She didn't talk fast, interested needing information. _She _doesn't sound like she's from here. Not English. He cannot place the accent.

Matthew rushes outside his room. No one is there. He returns. He's alone. His anger grows. If a sorceress is playing a cruel joke, there will be hell to pay. In front of his mirror, then branching outwards, the air begins to spin and whirl like a massive wind-storm. The fast moving air hisses and spits. The candle light extinguishes.

"SHOW YOURSELF," Matthew screams standing in front of the mirror refusing to relent to the invader. The temperature in his room drop below freezing. Ice forms inside his bedroom window and mirror. He's cold for the first time in centuries. "NOW!"

He's knocked backwards, as a bright flash of orange and yellow light illuminate the room. He opens his eyes. A dense frozen fog is before him. As it evaporates, he squints then his eyes widen seeing a blond woman standing a mere two feet away. He releases a shallow breath. This woman is in his mother's gown, and earrings. He smells adrenaline coursing rapidly through her body. The temperature in his room slowly rises.

"Where," she squeaks looking around the room before her eyes fall on Matthew.

A shallow breath escapes her lungs recognizing him her brief introduction from Miriam. However he looks different. His hair is longer. Curlier. Long side-burns. The clothing, tight breeches. The white flowy shirt, ruffled sleeves including the collar with strings hanging towards his stomach. She sees candles. No electricity.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

She glances at the Goddess of Diana chest piece she's still holding. "Yours I believe," she speaks, showing it to Matthew. Only she can see it but the date glows brightly before disappearing. For a split second she realizes where she is. Then pushes it aside. She does not, cannot believe it. There is no way she just time-walked to 1590. It's not possible.

"How," he utters. He has no words seeing the chess piece with this unknown woman he lost in a wager. He was certain he'd never see it again. Questions enter his mind. Who is she? Where did she come from? Why is she in his bedchamber?

"You're a vampire," she breathes clutching her chest. He's never heard this word used for his kind.

A gust of warm air lifts between them, before blowing in Matthew's direction. His eyes close inhaling her scent deeply. His eyes fly open. Everything hits him like a ton of bricks on his chest nearly forcing him into the floorboards. His balance falters. He steps back needing the space between them in order to breathe.

_Scents he'd long forgotten_ he smells staring at this unknown woman…creature.

_Honeysuckle_ from his mother's garden at Sept Tours he loves to walk through to clear his mind.

_Leaves from his favorite maple tree_ he'd tap and retrieve syrup during the harvest behind the church he built in France.

_Witch hazel_ just coming into bloom when he'd take walks behind Old Lodge in the first dawn of a perfect spring day.

_Antique and timeworn fragrances _long forgotten. His favorites all wrapped up standing before him in a vision of astonishing beauty, in Ysabeau's gown and earrings holding his lost chest piece.

He feels her magic.

"You're a witch," he counters sweeping his eyes over her fully inhaling deeply. Then words from a witch he met centuries ago off the coast of Italy, flash into his mind, _"when a great enchantress is in the presence of her forever mate, her skin with skimmer, radiating brightly…,"_

"Merde," Matthew releases a struggled breath. This witch stares hard into his green-blue eyes unafraid she's in the presence of a vampire. Her _eyes peer into his soul rendering him (mate) breathless. His heart beats on steady thump in his chest. _He's reeling, restraining himself from closing the distance between their two bodies.

The adrenalines coursing through her veins is a powerful drug. He grips the standing mirror behind him hearing her music. _"The melody calls him home like a warrior from a battle bringing light into his darkened heart." _

"Who are you," Matthew questions softly but sternly not to frighten her. She's disoriented. Her blood pumping sounding like a stamped of horses running through a field. He caves to his instincts stepping towards her. She holds her ground.

The temperature in the room drops well below freezing. He sees his breath. The hair on his arms, and head, begin to freeze. The tips of his fingers and toes for the first time in over a thousand years are cold. He smells her fear even though she has not moved. Her resolve to stay standing surprises him.

His hands are raised in front of him. The witch's gaze never wavers from his own. He closes the space between them slowly not wanting to startle her. He cannot have a witch run through his house. He moves closer. Her breath hitches. Her skin shimmers, and sparkles, the nearer Matthew becomes. The music Matthew hears in her veins- a melody meant for only him, awakens his lonely heart.

He takes another step closing the space between them. Her breath hitches. Her hands fly up between them trying to stop Matthew from coming any closer. Her vain attempt to keep him back is futile. He tentatively approaches her. He stops a mere foot away. Every bone, fiber, cell in his body screams at him to close the remaining space between them.

But he can't.

Won't.

Not without her consent.

She's scared enough already. He does not want to make it any worse.

"What's your name," he questions gently. She's silent. "I won't harm you. You have my word." She drops her hands. If he wanted to attack her he would have already.

"I…," she whimpers as the chills return to her body. The cold air around her and Matthew begins to spin and swirl in a tight circle. The temperature begins to drop again. Snow forms in the circle lifting up from the floor floating towards the ceiling. Matthew eyes never leave the witches. He's drawn to her. He has to know her name.

She knows his face, voice.

"My name is…," The snow, and cold stop abruptly. Everything fades to black. Matthew launches himself at her seconds before she collapses into his chilly embrace. Bright blue light flashes outwards beginning the moment she's in Matthew's arms. Her head bounces off his chest before he falls onto the wood floor with her in his arms.

"Christ," he curses with her body pressed up against him on the floor. He sits up cradling her in his arms. He shifts her head away from his chest to gaze into her face. "Where did you come from? Who are you?" The beat of his heart syncs with hers. "Merde," he whimpers caressing the tips of his fingers over her cheeks absorbing her essence.

He draws her closer as the need to keep her safe, to protect increases. He relaxes as his own body responds to her. _"Lastly when they touch, they will forever be joined. They are the other's ending and new beginning." _

Her eyes flutter open meeting Matthew's gaze.

"You're safe," he coos. "I'm…,"

As her eyes begin to close she mutters, "Matthew…."

**/**

**TBC…**

**I promise. I hope the ending of this chapter, leaves you craving for more and eager to learn what happens. Matthew and Diana have met in the past. Do you think she got him feeling the urge to mate? I'm sure you have questions. If you do, please message me. I do not mind. **

**Also I'd like to say thank you to all who supported, and left me a comment on chapter 1. It means a great deal you enjoyed it. I hope I casted a big enough spell so you leave me more after this chapter. I'll be looking forward to hearing from you. **

**Thank you for reading…**

**Lady Lazarus.**


	3. I Know Your Name

**Hello All Souls, Discovery of Witches family. Happy Easter. My deepest apologies for not updating in so long. Life truly got in the way. I feel like I've time-walked through 7 centuries since I posted last. Time got away from me as life got in the way. **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter. It took forever to write and edit. Please leave a review on your way out. Thank you for reading.**

**Lady Lazz**

**/**

**Chapter 3:** "**I know your name**."

"**I crossed the horizon to find you**. **I know your name. They have stolen the heart from inside you. But this does to define you**.** This is not who you are. You know who you are…," – Moana **

"Dieu," Matthew mutters his eyes sweeping over the unconscious _sorcerer _in his arms. Is a fellow creature playing a cruel All Hallows Eve trick on his household? No species, a witch would dare trespass on wearh land without permission. Fraternization is against congregation rules.

His sharp vampire eyes sweep over the unknown witch absorbing in every tiny detail. She's barefoot. His eyes widen noting their blue, green color. "Odd," muttering to himself. A custom from another land he speculates.

Her legs buried under the gown but their warmth is detected passing through the layers of the heavy fabric. No extra weight, their tone, fit, long, trim, and fit. "She's a runner perhaps," he ponders. "In need of shelter from…," he stops. If this witch requires sanctuary, why - how could she just appear in his bedchamber with no warning?

Matthew's hand clenches around her tiny waist. No chemise, petticoats, bum roll, stockings, or corset to keep her breasts pressed into her chest. She's taller than witches living nearby. She's a fraction shorter than the Queen. Wearing proper shoes, this witch would be the same height. Her full weight resting against Matthew, he estimates she's 9 stone (126 pounds) to his 14 stone (196 pounds).

Her hair, the long blond curled trestles half way down her back is unlike anything he's ever clutched in his hands. It's velvety – smooth like a dress only a lady of good breading would wear to meet the Queen. The moon's beams illuminate soft shades of yellow, peach, orange, amber, silver, cinnamon, and red; flickering like the wicks of candles. His cold fingers warm as a curl coils around them like a serpent snaring its prey.

The human part hidden within him chastises himself not to gaze down at her face. However the vampire craves to unpeel more. With one slow shaky breath he tilts her head back from his chest. His chilled heart beats once, hard fearing the repercussions but he's unable prevent it.

Matthew gazes upon her.

"Christ," he rasps breathing in her scent, impeccable rosy cheekbones, sculptured brows, elongated curled lashes, buttoned nose, rosy honey-smelling lips. _Perfect. _His hand glides to her face stopping before making the final contact. Is it softer than her hair? His shaking finger tips hover.

"Merde," he grouses. His hand spreads over her cheek, swallowing hard. Her blood rushes to surface meeting his touch. It bubbles, pops millimeters from his fingers. The music within her veins echoes to Matthew shooting up his arm, into his neck, directly into heart. The heart walls expand to a breaking point. He steadies himself. His own blood sings answering her song.

"_I crossed the horizon to find you," _harkens between her and Matthew.

"Dieu," he gulps. His lungs constrict tightening every muscle within his chest. He tries to breathe but his lungs squeeze tighter. His chest hurts. He's never felt this amount of pressure. Matthew forces a breath out. The witch in his arms breathes his air in.

"_I know your name,"_ he catches singing in the witch's blood vessels. 

"_How do you know my name," _Matthew questions contemplating her. "I've never seen you before. But why do I feel I know you from somewhere, someplace." He's drawn to her. "Another time…," his voice trails off echoing in the room.

He watches her closely, observing her features. She relaxes in his arms. "How did you get in here," he wonders. This connection he's never felt for – towards anyone, especially a witch is startling.

"Fuck," he curses willing himself to release her placing her down on the wooden floor, separating their bodies but he cannot. Every impulse, urge to do so, his grip tightens.

Her blood pumping through her veins quickens hearing Matthew's intonation. "You're safe," he mutters softly over her face. "I won't harm you," he stops not even knowing her name. The statue of Diana glows before shooting across the room, bouncing off Matthew's leg.

The statue glows brightly as Matthew stares at it. "How did you get this?" He retrieves it, holding it over the witch in his arms. "Who are you?" It begins to grow warm, then hot. "Shit," he growls dropping it. He glances at his hand. It left a mark.

Matthew eyes writing on his chest piece. He reaches for it. His eyes register a name. "Diana," he mutters holding it over the sleeping witch and himself. The statue tumbles onto his mother's dress. It shimmers in the moonlight then dims. Matthew squints. "What is my chest piece trying to tell me?"

It levitates off her body then into Matthew's hand. His heart flutters.

"Diana," he exhales. "Is that your name?" A wave of familiarity warms then chills his entire body. He recognizes this name – _her _from another time, place perhaps. But where? He's never met her. He'd remember a witch with this amount of power.

"_Did she cross the horizon to find me," _he speculates.

"_The Smell of you. Willow-sap. Chamomile. Honey. Frankincense. Lady's mantle." _Scents he hasn't thought about in since his rebirth. His favorites. How can one sorcerer carry the scent of all the things he loves most in the world?

His nose picks up something she's striving to keep hidden in her blood. His hand clasps hers lifting it off the wooden floor. The witch's hand closes around Matthew's intertwining their fingers together. She's shaking.

He squeezes it. "You're out of harm's way. My house is impregnable," he comforts lifting her hand to his face. Her palm is inclined. His eyes see her blood moving in her wrist where the veins are closest to the surface. Her pulse slows but the singing in her veins has not.

He closes the final distance between his nose and her wrist inhaling her aroma.

"What the," he squints. Besides her heart vein, the blood's smell here should be fragrant, savory, heavily perfumed with flavors like a favorite confectionary shop. But hers does not. When she first arrived, he clearly recalls it, but now is not the case. He detects sweetener levels dropping.

His ears perk up to each movement within her body. Her body temperature is near normal but chilly. The blood pumping through her body has calmed. The beat of her heart quieter – her breaths have slowed as if she's asleep.

She's safe - with him.

A _wearh_'s.

"Matthew," his name sings outwards from her sleeping form into chest cavity invading his cold body. The only utterance stimulates his heart. The quick bursts are reminiscent of butterfly wings in the spring from the garden. A quick breath escapes him before he inhales.

His only focus is her, not reinforcements soon to be at his bedchamber door.

**/**

**Brotherly Instincts…**

_Knock. Knock…_

His younger brother is at his door.

"Brother! Are you all right? May I enter?" No answer. He too smells the sweet scent of an unknown sorcerer. He smelt the power from grounds surrounding the lodge. His brother bursts through the door.

"Matthew," he hisses freezing seeing his brother on the ground leaning over an unconscious witch. She should not be here. Their entire family is in grave danger. Intermingling between the species is forbidden, even though Matthew will assist anyone.

If he attacked her, defending his household, it stir unwanted attention. Nearby witches would come. There's no trace nearby. He's surprised they are not headed this way already.

"Please tell me you didn't…" Andrew cannot utter the words. His eyes scan her neck for visible bite marks. He sniffs the air for hints of her blood. Matthew has never attacked a fellow creature even with past wars between the species.

Matthew eyes lock onto his brother's.

"How could you ask me that," he seethes. His nostrils flare. Eyes darken. "I didn't bite, or drain her Andrew," Matthew growls. His eyes soften scanning her face, harden meeting his brother's. He tugs her closer. The mere idea of her being harmed by any _wearh_ in his household, especially himself stimulates his stomach to turn sour and blood to boil.

"What in heavens name happened? How did she get in here? Your bedchamber? Where did she come from," Andrew Hubburd inquires.

"I have no idea." Andrew eyes squint. Matthew does not lie.

"She can't be here," Andrew pleads. "If the witches nearby sense her power. She's in danger. Our entire household is in peril. We have to get her out before any creature notices," he attempts to reason. "She must have family, friends. A gathering of witches nearby who can offer aid."

"No," Matthew snips. "She's not from here brother." Andrew squints. "I can't explain it. Trust me she's not from any county near here."

"Where did she come from?" Matthew shrugs. "The witch didn't just fall out of the sky into your bedchamber," he exasperates. "How did she get inside the house?"

He reiterates the tale. What he felt, smelt. The cold, bright blue and white light. Andrew listens. "She had my chest piece." Matthew eyes it. "The White Queen. I lost it centuries ago. I told her she was safe – I would not harm her. I still won't. I approached to help, then she passed out. I did not hurt her. I'd never…" his pained voice trails off gazing at her face.

Matthew hand brushes over her cheek. "I caught her before she hit the floor. I couldn't let her get hurt – not when I can save her – _protect her."_

The unknown sorceress nuzzles into his touch. He's lost, drawn to her. The connection between them strengthens. She's unaware, but her body reacts to Matthew's every caress, sound, and intonation of his voice. Slight traces of her fight and flight reflex are smelt.

"Matt," Andrew musters in a low voice processing the night's events. Only one occurrence comes to mind.

It's not possible.

Andrew Hubbard heard tales of witches who can leap through time shifting through the centuries when he was human. However since his mother Ysabeau sired him, the tale was a myth. He was "made" hundreds of years after Matthew. Ysabeau found him sick and dying. She turned him, creating another son, a brother for Matthew. They're close.

He did not believe those tales. It was recited to young creatures, human children before bedtime. It cannot be possible. She'd be rare indeed. Others of her kind would do anything to keep her away from a house of _wearhs_.

"Brother," he steps gently towards Matthew. The floor barely squeaks.

Matthew head whips quickly, staring squarely into Andrew's eyes. His pupils dilate fully turning completely black. Animalistic. His hand whips for his cloak laced with his scent. He drapes is over her body tugging her into his breastbone. A strong scent cloves fill the room. He breathes their combined scent.

Matthew's muscles flex and enlarge before meeting his brother's eyes. Andrew shifts a millimeter closer.

"Don't," he growls urging him not to approach. His upper lip twitches baring hints of his teeth. His eyes tremble in their sockets.

Andrew stops.

"You need to let me help her," Andrew pleads. He will not hurt her. Beautiful church arias are heard the closer he becomes.

"She's staying with me," Matthew warns lowering his register. Matthew nuzzles his face into her hair. His eyes never waver from his brother's. The blue is his eyes is gone. He slides them backwards away from his brother. His cloak covers her fully. "I have her."

"Matthew…," Andrew murmurs approaching.

"I SAID STAY BACK," Matthew yells. "Another step and you will wish Maman never sired you," he hisses. "She's safe WITH ME," he barks leaning protectively over the witch shielding her from Andrew. It's taking every ounce of control not to come at his brother tearing him to pieces.

Andrew retreats. "Can't be." His places his hands in front of him. He smells her magic. It is unique, clearly not anything he's encountered and the change in his brother's scent.

_Pine needles. Greylocke. Cedar, Oak. _

_A warning - keep back._

Could his brother be…mating? Is it possible over a thousand years, the urge to become one with another finally claimed Matthew?

"I won't drink from her. I just want to help before Francoise and Pierre are alerted of her presence."

Pierre and Francoise - loyal servants like himself and Matthew. "They'll smell her brother. I'm surprised they're not here already." Andrew lifts his foot to move. "If they barge in here without warning startling you, she could be harmed. You should let me help you."

"No," Matthew snaps his eyes shaking in their sockets. "She appeared to me. In my bedchamber." Andrew is confident Matthew HAS her. "You will not touch her Brother," Matthew snarls burying his nose in her hair. He breathes her in. Chamomile soothes his instincts to force him out of the room.

He cannot bear her carrying the scent of any other in the house.

"I won't. I swear it. But at least permit me to help you off the floor. She should be somewhere more comfortable not on the cold wooden floor," he explains hoping he can approach without angering Matthew and help arrives.

Matthew grasp tightens fearing for her safety. If Alain and Francoise arrive, too many of their kind will be around her. He won't risk it. She needs to be kept safe. Protecting her is paramount.

"I can manage on my own," Matthew grovels keeping Andrew squarely his sites and the witch shielded.

"I don't doubt it," Andrew pleads. "But if you don't relax you could crush her. She's struggling to breathe. She's weak Brother."

"Christ," Matthew whimpers. His arms slack. His eyes examine her quickly, noting any injuries he could have caused. Luckily she's fine. "You won't lay a hand on her. Not without my consent." Andrew eyes widen and nods. "If I smell you on her," he warns. "I swear on…,"

Andrew leaves the room quickly returning with a pair a riding gloves. Matthew nods. "Walk slowly Brother. If not I may strike." Andrew nods. He walks behind Matthew stopping hearing him growl. He lifts his arms up. His hands go under his arm pits lifting them both off the floor.

The witch shifts in Matthew's arms. She squeaks off the ground. Andrew gestures towards the bed.

"I can't just put an unwed, unmated witch in my bed Andrew. It's highly inappropriate," Matthew explains. But his own blood sings at the idea. Could he handle her there, her scent mixing with his on clean sheets?

"I think we're well past right and wrong," Andrew points out. "She'll be more comfortable and so will you. You can be near her not on the floor. Plus we can assess what is ailing her? This is about her."

Matthew scrutinizes his options. Reluctantly he waltzes to his bed. Painstakingly he places her on his bedding. She sighs when her head hits his pillow. He hovers above, shielding her body before sitting. His back towards the door.

His hands cup her face. "You're going to be all right. I swear it," Matthew coos. His thumbs grace her soft cheeks then cover her hears. Her hair curls around his long fingers. "I won't let anyone, or creature come close to laying a finger on you."

Andrew hears Pierre and Francoise coming. He meets them outside Matthew's room. They are eager to see their master is unharmed. Andrew explains the situation only revealing information he feels Pierre and Francoise must know.

"_Yes there's a witch in Milord's bedchambers. _

_No we don't know how she got here or where she came from._

_The Master of the house is unharmed but the witch is ill. Extremely._

_Milord did not harm her. When you approach take great care. Do so slowly." _

Pierre and Francoise eye Andrew curiously. Andrew utters not another word before allowing them into his brother's room.

"Milord," Francoise and Pierre announce their presence. She notes his posture. He's sitting with her behind him facing the door. His cloak draped over her, covering her completely. "May we assist you?" They step closer.

Matthew's hands grasp the bedding tightening his arm muscles keeping her under his wings. His eyes note their approach. "I don't think you can do much. I appreciate it." His eyes never leave theirs. They smell her scent and their master's covering her. He's marked her as HIS own.

"Forgive me for speaking Milord, someone should examine her." Pierre suggests.

Andrew steps to the foot of the bed. "Everyone in this room is sworn to secrecy. It would be best Brother. We must think of her."

"Tread carefully," Matthew warns his voice dipping lower agreeing.

Francoise offers her assistance to help get the witch out of her clothing. Matthew agrees knowing it would be improper for him. He begrudgingly steps out of the room. He paces the hallway as a ray of emotions crash into him like waves on the sides of a ship.

Worry – will _she _recovery?

Wonder – where did _she _come from?

How – does _she _know him – his name?

Anxiety – if _she _is able to just appear, can she disappear? If she left, how'd he ever find her again?

Fear – If _she _left, would she forgot him? Would he ever see her again?

_Desire – _One look into those blue twinkling star sapphire eyes, ignited a fire inside he was unprepared for. He _wants her _more than anything on this earth – since his rebirth. He aches to know everything about her. To become one. It's wrong. Sorcerers and wearhs cannot be together, should not crave each other.

"Matthew you all right," Andrew questions as Matthew's agitation grows.

"Yes," he clips. His voice is short - harsh. Despite the urge to return to _her_ side, he must collect himself. This growing fire, instinct to join with her forever has to be a fleeting feeling. His blood sings encouraging him to return to her side. But he's never felt these strong emotions for another either. He leans against the wall releasing a shaking breath.

"If you want go for a walk," Andrew suggests. "To keep some space between you and her." Matthew is eerily quiet.

In Matthew's bedchamber, Francoise tends to the witch. Her eyes widen noting her tone figure, beauty, scent, Milord's Mother's gown and earrings. "How," she whispers. She gently slips the gown off. Francoise's white night-rail slips on her unconscious body. She does not remove the earrings.

Matthew enters his room when Francoise finishes. She is under the covers. "It will keep her warm Milord. The room is chilled."

"Did you see anything unusual when you dressed her," Andrew inquires not wanting to pry but if she's able to walk through time, there could be something she brought with her.

"No. She's physically fit." Francoise does not elaborate. "Powerful. No markings on any visible skin. In good health but cold. Her temperature should return to normal." She explains nothing else. "She's exhausted. We should allow her to rest Milord. I'd like to think she'll rise by morning."

"Is she only asleep," Matthew asks. If he must utter a thousand Our Father's, Hail Mary's for her eyes open, consider it done. "Tell me Francoise," he voices creaks.

"No Milord. But with time, her body will recuperate," Francoise smiles. "She's been through an ordeal this evening and requires rest."

Matthew stands with his hands in his pockets. His heart quivers at site of her in HIS BED. Their combined scent floods his nostrils. She _belongs in his room, household, warming his bed. In his arms, at his side where she'll be safe. _There's no other place she belongs. His head shakes ridding himself of these thoughts. She cannot be his. It's not possible. She must be _mated _to another.

"I'll watch over her Milord," Francoise speaks. "If she wakes I'll be sure to fetch you."

"No." He sits in an armchair by the fireplace. Francoise leaves the room. Andrew stays behind for a while then leaves noticing his brother's agitation growing. He checks on them through the night and the next morning.

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**November 2, 1590 (Early hours of Matthew's Birthday)**

"I thought you said she be awake by now," Matthew hisses pacing in front of the fireplace. As the hours have now turned into days, his anxiety has grown. He's left the room only when he must to assure members of his household all is well. But they are growing suspicious. He's kept up with the daily mail, answering letters, running the household, in the hope it ease his instincts but as the time passes with HER so near but far nothing worked.

He's needs to hunt, to feel his prey do its best to escape him, drawing life from it, but he refuses leave her side. Matthew left to the room briefly but only strayed far enough to hear her heartbeat and breathing. If he lost her scent, he returned. He did his best to keep his distance but her scent has permeated the room and slowly working its way through his home.

Each day it's grown stronger, infusing with Matthew's, adding to his burgeoning proclivity to form the mating bond. Andrew suggested he walk in the garden to clear his mind. He'd stay with her. Before he uttered another sound, Matthew was standing before him with a glare that would have turned the finest wine sour. If any dared to yank him from her side, he fears he'd rip their throat out.

Francoise and Pierre come into the bedchamber to tend to Matthew and their guest. Pierre brings Matthew wine, fresh blood, nuts, and berries. Sustenance to fuel his body. He tends the fire. Francoise checks with her master before approaching their guest. After observing his brother's mood souring further over the last two days, Andrew steps in.

"She's breathing. Her heart beat is steady. Her scent has not changed. Give it time. You need to hunt." Matthew crosses his arms defiantly. "You last fed before All Hallows Eve. It's nearing dawn. The deer are around the Lodge. Go. Francoise and I will stay."

"I'm fine," he deadpans. Hi baritone voice laced with impatience. He stands close to the fire staring at the witch. His eyes scan the bed for any slight movement. He yearns to see the blue in her eyes, curious if they match a perfect summer day. He misses her warmth; sinking into his coldness. Every sound her body makes, he picks up accept the one he craves most, her voice.

"No you are not," Andrew challenges stepping closer to the bed. "Brother you're cra…" he stops when Matthew's standing before him blocking his path. His eyes completely black. Andrew retreats.

"Andrew…," he growls. It's a warning. Do not move an inch. He relents.

"What happens if she wakes, moves to quickly, bolting to get away from you, me, any of us. You know a warmblood is not completely safe around us. Pierre, Francoise including myself have taken care of ourselves. We have all fed. But you Brother have not. Do you want to attack her by accident?"

Matthew winces. The mere idea of him causing her any harm causes bile to rise in his throat. Hurting her in any way is not an option. His hand grasps the shirt over his heart, drumming in sync with hers.

"Of course not," Matthew utters. However, his entire body aches from his _cravings_. EVERYTHING slowly revolves around her. He has not touched her, held her for two days. Every cell, bone, muscle – especially his heart is screaming to close the distance between them. Even then it wouldn't be close enough.

_This can't be happening,_ he chastises himself. _Not after all these centuries._ He loved his wife but what he's going through right now fails in comparison.

How can only a few minutes of holding her, being so close have done this to him? She's enchanted him in a matter of minutes. What magic did she weave to link him to her so desperately?

"You'll feel more like yourself," Andrew pleads. "If she wakes…," Matthew heads whips towards him. "All right, when she wakes she is going to be blooming terrified. She will need us all."

Matthew bristles. The only wearh his heart is set on her yearning for is him – _him alone. _Andrew eyes waver to Matthew's shoulders. They're enlarged, puffing his shirt upwards. His hands are bawled into fists with his veins popping fully out of the skin.

Matthew swallows hard staring at his bed. "She has to recover," he utters to himself. Losing her isn't an option. "She cannot leave…," he stops before finishing his thought. If she disappeared, would he survive? He doesn't even know her but his heart says otherwise.

"Milord she will not be alone. I will remain," Francoise suggests softly. She reaches for a book she's been reading. She hopes it would stir her to open her eyes. Francoise believes it's not the voice she yearns for. Matthew has been talking but not to her.

Francoise has been in the room almost as much as Matthew. She speaks of mundane things, events, reads hoping hearing a kind voice will lift the vail of darkness from her eyes. It has not worked. Whatever the witch is suffering from, it's still plaguing her.

"Brother please," Andrew tentatively steps to Matthew's side. "You must feed. We won't be gone long. If you will not do it for yourself, do it for…,"

"_Her,"_ Matthew mouths silently.

"Fine," Matthew exhales reaching for his cloak drapping it over his shoulders. "You will not keep me long. I won't go further than the sound of…," he cuts his words off. Speaking – _I will not venture past the sound of her heart, her breathing _would be worse. "If I cannot find nourishment I am coming back to the Lodge. Understood." Andrew nods. Matthew meanders to the bed. He kneels inhaling her scent deeply. It's sweeter now that Matthew is close.

His eyes waver from her face lingering on her hand. A desperate need to hold it floods his body, assuring her he'll return. Is her skin as soft as he remembers? Will her blood sing when they touch?

Matthew's eyes travel to Francoise. "No harm will come to her. Speak to her. Assure her of your return. Tell her who we are. Maybe a kind voice will help. If anything happens, I'm certain you'll be aware." She stops. The changes in her Master's scent, his heart beating in sync with hers is enough. Francoise retreats.

"I'm," he stammers covering her hand with his. "Matthew," he speaks encasing one hand between both of his. A burst of cold air shoots from the bed though the room dropping the temperature. His skin prickles. "I'll return soon," he squeezes raising to his face. His lips hover of her skin. She smells of Lilly's mantle.

"You're safe. I won't let any harm come to you." The room chills further. He sees his breath. "You are under my protection."

"I swear it on my life," he murmurs in pure devotion. She smells of Chamomile emits calming Matthew. Andrew shifts his feet. Matthew removes his cloak draping it over the witch _marking _her with his scent. His eyes shoot to the foot of the bed. "No one touches her," he hisses. "If so…I will know."

"Yes Milord," every one utters.

"You're not alone," he sighs. For two days he's longed to hear her voice, the music in her veins, to lose himself within her eyes. Andrews calls to him. With a large stride he steps away moving towards the door. He hits the doorway, halting his forward momentum.

"Merde," Francoise gasps.

Matthew turns. His eyes scan the room. His mouth gapes open along with Pierre's and Andrew's. White fog forms on the ceiling.

"Christ," Matthew wheezes as his room turns frosty.

"She's doing this," Andrew speaks as the room chills further.

"Impossible," Matthew mouths. The chilly mist falls onto his face, then melts. Everyone hears…

"_I've crossed the horizon to find you…,"_

"Milord," Francoise steps away from the bed hearing the witch's song from her veins.

Matthew edges closer, stopping at the foot. Her eyes remain closed.

"_I know your name," _her blood sings louder. Francoise retreats joining Pierre and Andrew.

"How do you know of me," Matthew questions quickly closing the distance between their bodies. Her breathing changes. "I don't know yours."

His White Queen chest piece shoots across the room hovering in front of Matthew. His pupils widen. "I have no idea who you are," his voice trails off. Snow swirls around it in a tight circle increasing in speed. Matthew looks between the statue and the enchantress in his bed.

"It can't be that simple," he speaks to the statue swirling in a funnel of snow and ice. "Her name can't be…," he pauses. "Diana…," the statue plunges into his open palm below freezing temperatures.

"Christ," Matthew chokes noting a mark on his hand. _Diana_ written in snow and ice shines on his skin, burning him, then evaporates.

"_They've stolen the heart from inside you," _her blood echoes. It's sweet. Songful. In harmony with the notes, chords he hears moving through her veins. Matthew falls to his knees at her bedside.

"_But this does not define you…"_

"Diana," Matthew murmurs. He encloses his hands over hers lifting it off the bedding bringing to his face. His lips brush lightly over her cold skin.

"_This is not who you are. You (I) know who you are…"_

"Please wake up," Matthew begs pressing his lips to the Hallow of _her _wrist. His eyes close taking in her scent and music in her radial artery just underneath the skin. He cannot lose her now. The lids of her eyes lift falling directly on Matthew. The snow stops.

"Merde," Francoise gasps gripping Pierre.

Her pulse quickens.

Matthew's head shoots up quickly.

"Christ," he breathes as their eyes meet. "You're awake." He scoots closer. He has not released her hand. "You're safe," he coos brushing his fingers over the top. Her breath hitches. She squints trying to place him.

Her hand trembles. "I won't harm you. You have my," she notices Andrew, Francoise and Pierre. "Our word." He reluctantly places her hand down. "Can you talk?" She blinks moving her hand over her chest. "Do you know where you are? The day? Year of Our Lord?"

Her eyes widen taking him in, the room, and how the vampires are dressed. She met him once, with Miriam at his house. This can't be same room, or is it?

"Brother," Andrew warns hearing her heart rate increase and scent of her adrenaline spiking.

Matthew hisses.

"Mademoiselle it's the second of November," pauses inching closer. He swallows. "1590."

Her eyes widen. She shakes her head vigorously. It's not possible she leaped back in time over four centuries. It's a talent she's never possessed or has she? If so, they'll be in great danger because of the covenant. She will not risk their safety. She must leave – now. Her eyes close allowing her body to absorb the room's chilly temperature and its occupants.

Her response is quick. A rush of freezing cold air, mixed with snow and ice enters the room from nowhere lifting the blankets off her body knocking Matthew backwards. He struggles to stand as it whirls around her, shielding her scent, heartbeat, and breathing from him, and the others. She sits up in the bed, hands out repelling them.

Andrew, Pierre, and Francoise grip onto each other. They stare at Matthew. His only focus is her. He must reach her, not because he wants to drain her, but to protect her.

"You're free from danger. I -WE won't harm you," he calls out over the rush of cold, snow and ice.

"No," shaking her head vigorously. She's struggling to breathe.

"Please permit me to help you," Matthew pleads to reach her.

"Breathe. You need to breathe. I don't want you hurt," Matthew beseeches. The desperation in his voice is unmistakable. "Diana," her eyes meet his hearing HIM call her name. Her heart momentarily ceases before fluttering stimulating her skin to glow. "That's your name right," he inches closer. The wind dissipates as quickly as it came.

"I won't harm you. You have my word," he murmurs. He's close enough to reach her. She falls into Matthew's waiting arms her hands and head against his chest. He clings to her desperately, breathing her in deeply allowing chamomile, honey into his body. He listens to her heart, it rumbles against his chest.

"I've got you," he whispers into her hair. "You're safe." Francoise mindful of her clothing, rushes to the bed, tossing Matthew his cloak. He catches it easily, wrapping Diana in it fully lacing her in cloves, and cinnamon. Hers is now on him.

Diana nestles her face into his chest. His heart thumps fiercely once, in harmony with her own. Her body tremors recalling a prophecy she heard as a little girl.

"_There is a legend if a powerful witch, one with rare powers is in the presence of her mate, her skin will glow. Upon meeting for the first time, her mate's lung's with constrict leaving his chest tight. The rhythm of his heart will be steady and strong for her. The music within her veins will sing out to him returning the other to the comfort of the other's embrace joining light and darkness. Her scent will be captivating, ensuring they only crave the other as long as both shall live. One cannot be without the other."_

She heard her parents speak of the last part of the prophecy. It only happens to certain witches. It's never spoken of, but could this be about her.

"Can't be," she whispers. Autumnal spices, cinnamon and cloves enter her nose.

"Hmm," Matthew answers. His hand slinks between them, interlacing his hand over hers resting on his breast bone. His fingers tilt her face upwards meeting his. With his face less than a foot away from hers, their eyes meet. His glistening sapphire - emerald eyes soften. His grip tightens feeling her legs weaken. He smiles bashfully becoming lost in her twinkling pale azure eyes.

Her entire body explodes in a silvery blue white gleam. Her pupils enlarge giving Matthew a clear look at streaks of gold, and silver chords within her eyes. The chords fan outwards, becoming lost in blue irises. They mimic the movement of his own. On the outer edges are traces of light green struggling to emerge. Even if Matthew wanted to waver his gaze, he couldn't.

He sighs cradling her face in his hand. His thumb ghosts ever so delicately across her cheek. His own blood sings as her own streaks through the vessels in her cheek to meet his cool touch. It heats, pops, tingles dancing against his fingers.

"Diana…," he coos.

Her breath hitches, eyes flutter, head leans to the side. She nods still wheezing. Matthew instantly inhales breathing her in. Her scent is more enticing from being in his bed for two days. She smells of him - her , a perfection combination of them both. His fingers sprawl across her back, huddling them closer.

"I'm…,"

"Mm," she stops striving to utter his name. IF she is in 1590 addressing him so informal would be improper.

"Say it," he implores. His voice gentle, just above a whisper. She said it once. He aches to hear it again. "It's all right."

"M…," she swallows. "A…" her legs crumble.

Matthew scoops her up in his arms quickly. Not once do his eyes leave hers. "I'd think you'd be more comfortable lying down." She acquiesces extremely weak. He returns her to his bed, covering her with the blankets. When she's settled he requests some light food to settle her stomach, and a drink.

Francoise leaves the room with Pierre leaving Matthew alone with Diana. He sits in front of her but refrains from touching her.

"My staff is bringing you some food, drink," he explains softly. She tilts her head on the pillow looking at him. She sees the statue on the bed. He picks it up holding it in his hand. "The White Queen. Goddess of the Hunt."

"Diana," she utters meeting his eyes.

"Yes," he rests the statue in her hand. His face spreading into a wide smile. "I'm..."

"Ma -" she mutters just as the door opens.

A young boy steps into the room.

"Pa-Pa who's this?"

**/**

**TBC…**

**Yes I am just going to leave this here. I promise to start the next installment sooner rather than later especially with everything going on. **

**Which reminds me, what did you all think of this update? I truly hope it was worth the long wait. You learned a lot about Diana in this chapter and if Matthew's mating instincts of have kicked in. Do you believe they have? **

**I also changed Andrew Hubbard's role. I hope no one objects. What do you hope will happen next? **

**All I ask if you would like to read more this story, please drop a review. If you also read a work from another writer, please do so as well. We love getting reviews. **

**Stay safe. Stay Home.**

**Thank you for taking the time to read. **

**Lady Lazarus**

**P.S. I also posted a new fic "Mon Immortel" a few weeks ago. If you have not checked it out please do so. **


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